Shadowheart

'Not all are accounted for,' replied Dessyn, his face reddening from the rebuke. 'Some have disappeared into the city, others tried to leave Xetesk altogether. Thirty-seven are currently inside the college. We are holding them in the barracks.'

'Leaving how many loose?'

Dessyn looked at Chandyr. 'Commander?'

'Given I don't know if any, other than Myx, were killed in the catacombs, though I doubt it, that would leave sixty-eight at large. I am assuming they are not necessarily loyal but not necessarily a threat, either.'

'Very well,' said Dystran. 'Chandyr, you need to assess those we hold. I suspect like you that they will not fight with us. Make sure they are treated well. They are a problem of our own making and they will be respected. None will be hurt or forced to do anything against their wills. Ensure they understand that and see that word gets out into the city. Don't waste resources searching for the lost; let's hope they choose to come to us.

'Next, research.'

Faces around the table became, if anything, longer than before. Dystran tried to ignore them.

'Elven translations?'

'Unfinished,' said Ranyl. 'And with Gylac and his assistant dead, we would struggle to confirm any theory, or indeed complete our researches even if the Aryn Hiil and associated writings hadn't been taken.'

'Right, so that's a disaster,' said Dystran. 'Let's scrub it for now, there's nothing we can do about it in the short term. Dimensional connectivity and inter-dimensional focus?'

'Well, Kestys demonstrated the Soul Tank linkage was divisible without risk,' said Prexys, dryly. 'At least it suggests our calculations of dimensional alignment are correct.'

Dystran rather liked Prexys. He was ancient, older than Ranyl, and trustworthy because he had no desire to rule. Not any more. His age had refined his acerbic wit, though this time, Dystran was the only one who smiled.

'That's something, I suppose. Did anyone check the research rooms in Laryon's hub?'

'Nothing has been damaged there, my Lord,' said Prexys. 'Unlike your own base. Much of the information there has been destroyed or taken.'

'And what has gone?'

'Oh, nothing much,' said Prexys, eyebrows rising. 'The latest map, the seeker-spell routines and the gateway structure research.'

'Nothing much,' muttered Hyloch. 'The damage they have done.'

'It is not terminal,' said Dystran. 'It is a setback, nothing more. It changes nothing except the speed of our actions.'

'They have taken the basis for everything,' said Hyloch.

'But not the method for that which we need most urgently.' Dystran could see that they didn't understand. He leaned back. 'Let's go back a little way. The vents. Suarav, tell me your plan.'

Suarav looked surprised. 'Well-'

'For the benefit of us all,' added Dystran.

'Oh, of course, my Lord.' He composed himself. 'They are being blocked as we speak. We must assume the supply chain is compromised and the vents do, or did, represent a potential point of enemy entry.'

'So, you see the extent of our problems. However, we can strike back but it must be sure. I believe we have one option only. Stop me if you disagree.' He spread his hands. 'You're tired so I'll try and be brief. To swing the war back in our favour and ensure our plans for the rulership of Balaia and Calaius are not irreparably damaged, we must reclaim the elven writings. We must also, given the likely and immediate destination of both The Raven and the remaining elven mages, break the siege quickly.

'I would remind you all that though Julatsan magic is weak it is far from dead. To irrevocably shift the balance our way, it must be suffocated. That means thwarting any attempt to raise the Heart. Am I clear so far?'

He saw nods, lips moving and the gesture of a hand.

'Good. My friends, it has come to this. Our adapted magics are not fully tested, nor fully theorised. But we do not have the time to wait. We have to confess to being outthought by the elves and outfought by The Raven. This means that occupying the siege forces for a moment longer while we research is rendered pointless. We will also begin to suffer quickly with vital supplies now being denied us.

'So, Commander Chandyr, you will put into operation the advance plans we have been working on so diligently. Please report to me as soon as you can about the state of the familiars, mage-defenders and assassins. When this blasted storm dies down, we can send the familiars out; I feel they may be a potent weapon. Captain Suarav, you will assist, in addition to activating the backward college defence plans. You know how long you might have to defend us. The numbers against you will only become clear when the siege is broken. Commander, you haven't as long as I wanted to give you. One day and one night, to be precise.

‘Iwill personally oversee the final hours of work on the dimensional spells and will make a decision which spell to employ nearer the time. You, my Lord mages, will rest. Gather your wills and your strengths. Advise those trained of what is to come and relieve them of their duties in order to rest. I will not look kindly on failure.

'At dawn the day after tomorrow, we will show those bastards what a big fucking mess is really all about. Any questions?'

Chapter 28

In the end, the One-inspired storm did more than keep familiars from the air. It kept the sky dark until well after dawn. The Raven, exhausted, wounded and carrying Erienne, who showed no signs of regaining consciousness, had made tortuously slow progress through the gorse and then across open land, first west, then south and finally east and back towards the Al-Arynaar camp.

Though they kept to deep shadow, shallow valley and tree or scrub where they could find it, they ran a constant risk of encountering Lysternan or Dordovan patrols. It made the walk mentally as well as physically draining, the wild weather conditions merely compounding the problems they faced.

The first ClawBound found them after perhaps an hour. It might have been more, Hirad couldn't be certain. The rain was driving head-on into them, the wind forcing their movement back to little more than a shuffle. He was leading, the blood loss from his chest making him light-headed, with pain spearing his lungs every time he breathed. The Unknown was at his side, one arm around Darrick's waist. The general was in trouble, his hip having stiffened, sending an ache up the entire side of his body and into his neck and face, his blood loss from beneath makeshift bandages a cause for real concern.

Behind them, Thraun's huge arms enveloped Erienne, keeping the worst from her, while beside her, Denser shivered with the cold and mental fatigue, his cloak wrapped around his wife. Sian'erei walked with them too, cutting a lone hunched figure, lost in dread thoughts about the death of Julatsan magic.

The panther had approached from downwind, appearing from the dark and wiping a wet flank along Thraun's undamaged leg. Another had immediately run out of low cover to their right and not long after, came their unmistakable elven partners. Tall, long-fingered, impossibly graceful, their white-and-black painted faces unspoiled by the rain.

Hirad had felt a relief that surprised him, while The Raven were happy to have their direction changed, edging them south-east. One of the pairs walked with them, the other well ahead, scouting the terrain for cover and any sign of allied patrols. The pair with them didn't stray from Erienne. The panther walked easily by Thraun, the elf on his other side. Normally impassive, the elf s face wore a frown and he rarely took his eyes from her. As if he could sense the turmoil within her.

Hirad relaxed. Not just because the ClawBound would give early warning of any attack, but because he had to. He couldn't fight his weariness any longer. His chest was freezing and a riot of pain, his whole upper body felt like he'd taken a beating with iron bars and his legs were leaden and sluggish. The only way to keep himself going was to retreat inside himself and concentrate on just putting one foot in front of the other.